Love of The Void
by IggyBlob
Summary: What you are about to read is a tale of two forbidden lovers, a tale which no one is sure actually happened. I'm going to try and tell you about a tale of the evil and the good within the world, the evil and the good within people. I'm going to try and tell you a tale of how humanity helped make a suffering demon live on for his best friend.
1. Chapter 1

What you are about to read is a tale of two forbidden lovers, a tale which no one is sure actually happened, a tale created to make the listener suffer. Not suffer like a student try to read Geoffrey Chaucer's The Wife of Bath, no more like, the suffering of watching a loved one go in front of you. I understand this makes the tale sound painful and in a way unreadable, but sometimes we must go through this pain to appreciate the good things in life. This tale is by no means going to be the best thing you have ever heard, nor do I want that. This tale has been created to try and move an audience, make them feel something, no matter how big or how small. Me being me will usually put in a word or two of my own, but hey, this tale moved me, in more ways than one. Now, let me begin we'll start with...

The sun was dipping down as the autumn day drew to a close, London was starting to fill with people leaving their job for the day, and Crowley knew they were already irritated. He himself knew the feeling, his work today had been quite demanding, causing the man to be irritated himself. However, wondering the street of London back to his apartment, he watched as those around him kept checking their phones, laughing as the people of London panicked over the lack of phone signal. They looked like hawks fighting for the last scrap of food in the world. He watched as the humans became angry, he heard the knock-on effect of humanity's annoyance come into action. There was loud shouting coming from a small café on an unknown corner within London; the mystic being listened as the voice was more audible.

"This place sucks, your signal doesn't even work!" A high pitch voice of a male cried, "You do know that's FaLsE aDvErTiSeMeNt" A bratty teen shouted at a woman behind the counter. Crowley looked over at the building reading the small sign on the door 'Free Wi-Fi with every order', he continued to watch as the bratty boy left his order in the middle of the counter walking out, followed by some adults. He smiled at the mess they had left and the mood they had left people within the shop feeling. However, he did feel slightly sorry for the women behind the till, who looked out at her customer's angry faces, hers filled with nothing but panic. Don't get me wrong, Crowley would never admit he felt sorry for this women, it's not his fault he didn't understand a humans way of thinking. How was he to know people were angry with the cashier as if she was the reason the signal and internet was down. Who did they think she was, a secret government spy?

And with that turn in thinking the lanky man carried on walking laughing to himself. No, spys around London don't run little coffee shops, they awkwardly stand by the duck pond giving the animals a feast of bread. He looked forward at the duck pond and began questioning if they had ears to hear the conversation the people around them say. 'If ducks do have ears, wait they must have ears… Anyway, ducks would be the best subject to interrogate for secret plans really.' Crowley thought, laughing again. He never stopped to listen to the conversation himself; he merely glanced in their direction, understanding the two grown men were talking with their eyes.

To Crowley, they were questioning who had caused the mess that was starting in London. The man on the right asked, "Is this blackout of signal your doing?" To which the other man would stare back wide-eyed, "My doing! I thought it was yours..." Crowley shook his head; you had to love humanity and their idiocy.

However, when he got to a square in the middle of London, the feeling of anger was no longer there, for Crowley, it felt disgusting. There were people with smiles across their face. "What's happening here?" Crowley inquired aloud, a gentleman who appeared next to the Crowley just looked over to the centre of the square, his face flat.

"It looks like a random statue has appeared in the centre sir, we do not seem to know why but tourist seem to enjoy it," Crowley nodded pulling his jacket around himself more. "Sir, I'd be careful of this statue it seems to be calling your name Mr Crowley." Without thinking of what the stranger had said to him, he walked forward, slowly towards the centre of the square trying to slither around the crowd of people. The man who had answered him had disappeared, but Crowley paid them no attention, ignoring the message he had been told. There was a beautiful angelic 'man' stood as if in a fleeing stance upon a white podium. Crowley encircled the statue as a hawk would do its prey; he had to admit the marbling work was fantastic; the figure looked so real.

He stopped once he reached the marble face — the look of fear visible to even a human eye, with a hint of sadness. Crowley looked at the figures face; its features so defined it was as if the character was real with a coat of paint on. He lifted this hand to gently stroke the statues cheek, feeling as though a single touch from him would shatter the object into millions of pieces.

However, someone within the crowd pushed Crowley in hopes to get a picture with the mysterious statue, and he was knocked out of his trance. He shook his head and again slivered his way out of the crowd back to his apartment; today had been to busy for his liking he needed to sleep. I think I need to insert myself in here and explain its not like he needs sleep he's not a human after all, but he values sleep as much as the next guy. Where humans do their thinking in the shower, Crowley does his thinking while sleeping. (Or he liked to think that's what he does).

Anyway, the mystery of the statue was happily accepted by Londoners and tourists alike everyone trying to grab a quick snap holding its hand, posing as though the figure meant something to them, but during the weeks it stood, hand after hand, a marble tear could be seen to form in the corner of the eyes of the statue…


	2. Chapter 2

Anyway, the mystery of the statue was happily accepted by Londoners and tourists alike, everyone trying to grab a quick snap holding its hand, posing as though the figure meant something to them, but during the weeks it stood, hand after hand, a marble tear could be seen to form in the corner of the eyes of the statue…

This was the third time Crowley awoke with a startle this month; this was the third time Crowley had gone to sleep this month, how long has he been out this time? He stretched giving movement back to the dormant body; he moved to the window and looked out at the world, the little hanging plant above the window was shaking. Crowley growled a good morning to the plant and checked it over for any more rebellion. Satisfied his plant was looking healthy he walked out of his room, usual unused.

On his way out, he realised he hadn't spot checked his plants this month and turn back to the room. He looked over each one as a sergeant would do to a regiment. Each plant would receive its own glare until the tired man looked towards his newest addition. The youngest plant of them all had yet been 'broke' by Crowley, and mealybugs had infected it. Nasty little creatures I must add. Crowley snatched the plant pot with a menacing smile, "It's not that I'm angry, I'm just disappointed," the man said, looking the little plant over. He looks up to the big plants claiming "Say goodbye to your little friend here; he just couldn't make the cut." He turned the little plant around, away from his view towards the other green in the room, revealing its damages to the others. He watched as a gust of wind pushes the older plants back against the walls as if in fear. "This is what happens to plants who don't listen." He goes to walk out with the damaged plant angrily, to turn back and shout "GROW BETTER!"

However, unlike what you would expect from this angry man, who stomped into another room, he gently laid the little pot down on a table shutting the door to the other scared plants in the house. "Now, now," he says to himself, "What am I to do with you?" he questions walking around the room. This room wasn't full of luxurious plants like the last; this one was well lit and bright, full of gardening equipment. He picks up a gardening pair of scissors and walks over to the drooping plant. "There's no need to be scared, I'll fix you up again," he claims moving the scissors over to the damaged part of the plant and cutting its leaf off he moves back to a cupboard, picking from a range of bottles the right one that will treat the infections. Again I'd like to add, Crowley would never tell the other plants what happens to those who disobey and become ill, he'd rather they went living in fear to grow the greenest and biggest he's ever seen a plant, than having to cope looking after them 24-7 as a naive human would. Of course, once the plant had been healed, he would place it in another part of the house to make sure those who saw it thought it was new. (He was strange like this, his demonic attitude dominating over everything)

He walked back into the original forest room with a now empty pot to which he slammed down onto the side in anger. "This is what happens to those who don't grow to my standards." He smirked as the plants started to cry.

He was bored. Humanity had fixed the phone connections pretty quickly; he wasn't surprised as this was the fourth time this year he had messed with it. He needed something to do or at least someone to fraternise with… He sighed looking back out of the window down towards his Bently; he didn't have the desire to drive his Bently around London today, so he opted to walk. He didn't know where or why he just wanted to find something to do.

London was quieter today compared to usual, the streets were almost empty, minus the odd business person who was walking around during their lunchtime ritual. Out of habit, when Crowley got to the centre of London, he tried to cause a commotion by causing a fault with the traffic lights, but it didn't seem to bother anyone. Crowley lifted his sunglasses up a little in surprise to see how people were happy and smiling. It angered Crowley, usually when he does that the people of London are running rampage across the city.

While he was distracted looking out at the road, he had forgotten about the mysterious statue and had accidentally bumped into a family who was fascinating over the figure. Crowley looked up, ignoring the family, who hadn't seen in the least bit bothered by the intrusion and was about to walk past them when he felt another presence that wasn't human next to him. He jumped and quickly spun around; there was no one there… Crowley thought to himself 'I'm going mad if a demon could go mad I mean.' Out of random desire, he looked over to the statues face questionably. He hadn't really had much time to look into what this statue was meant for as he had been busy trying to wreak devastation within the city, but London was having none of it.

The face had drawn him in again as if under a spell, he scrunched his face up as he carefully examined the figure unsure whether he had seen the tears in its eyes the first time he had studied it. Again he was brought out of the trance, this time by the family he had bumped into, a woman about the age of twenty had tapped his shoulder, Crowley turned with a menacing look. The women didn't seem to care though, and it shocked Crowley again. She had asked him if he was able to take a picture of the family as it was meant to bring them good luck. The man scoffed at the thought but feeling a little guilty from knocking into a newly pregnant woman he reluctantly accepted. He took their camera and stood away from the statue again so he would get everyone into view.

While the family were sorting themselves out, Crowley started thinking. 'What was this statue for, maybe I could vandalise it, I mean it gives me something to do.' He also thought about how the conversation with hell would go down. He could argue the statue itself reminded him of angels he had once seen in heaven before he sauntered vaguely downwards and how the statue was considered 'good luck' to humans. He looked over to the figure; the face was so angelic.

"Excuse me, Sir, are you ready to take the picture," The pregnant women asked, Crowley, snapped himself out of his daydream. He saw how the woman was holding the ang-statues hand with a desperate face while her family were kneeling around her. Without saying a word, he pressed a button, taking two pictures before he walked over to return the phone. "Thank you." She said before she grabbed her daughter's hand and walked off, her husband following. 'Strange' Crowley thought 'they usually each try holding its hand before they walk off.' He visibly tilted his head, wondering what it was about this statue that people think it would bring it luck. When he was last down here, he heard someone in the crowd of people claim it was thanks to this statue he still had a job and how a woman had finally been able to conceive the day after her picture was taken holding the statue's hand. Humans believe anything when they're desperate…

He was about to turn away when the dawning fact of London's attitude changing happened once this angelic statue appeared, meaning he had to vandalise it. (Give him a break his bored and is trying to find some 'fun') He had seen others try, but they were never able to get close because there was always someone watching or the material they used came off as if by a miracle… He slyly looked around; the square was the emptiest he had seen it in a while since the statue was introduced. There was the family he had just taken a picture of, who was happily sitting at a café and a policeman, who was walking around the square drinking a Costa. As well as the odd person walking by here and there, he quickly got out his phone and set it to selfie mode. (He's still happy with himself for thinking of that, it wound the old generation up marvellously) He moved over to the statue and took his shades off, showing his yellow eyes and placed them on the concerned face of the figure, as well as taking his jacket off and placing it on the statues back; he chuckled at his art piece while turning to grab its hand as other people had done. He jokingly wished for something to do or someone to fraternise with…

As the demon's fingers entwined with the hand, the world stopped moving. The trees amid the gardens stopped still, the bees floating around the flower beds stopped as if caught in a web. The policeman's straw had stopped giving him liquid halfway up the straw. Crowley looked around nervously; he had never felt this magic before and watched as smoke filled his vision; he looked to see the smoke was coming from the statue. He glared in awe as he watched the marble chip away to produce a 'man' underneath. The man having been in an awkward pose slipped from the podium, and in the nick of time, Crowley had moved to grab the falling statue. He stumbled but never fell, and once the smoke had risen, he saw he was holding the statue… not a statue but a 'man'?

"Stop!" The statue shouted before he realised he was no longer in the position or place he remembered being left it. "Wha…" He trailed off.

"Erm... Hi" Crowley said, looking down towards the soft man in his arms.

"Hello," The blond hair man said confused, he looked around the garden his brows scrunched up, while his eyes searched under Crowley's glasses. "Wh-Where am I?" Crowley, confused by the whole business, forgot to answer and just stared down towards the person he had caught. "Who-who are you?" The man finally asked after a while, staring into his captures snake-like eyes. Crowley was shocked the man hadn't jumped from his arms and away from him yet after witnessing his eyes, Crowley was shocked he hadn't dropped the person. Again the lanky man didn't answer but rather look at the empty statue podium then at the man in his arms.

"The names Crowley and you're in London." The man in his arms looked around again the glasses Crowley had placed on the statue's face were crooked. "The more important question here is who are you?" Crowley asked, looking more in-depth at the man in his arms.

"Aziraphale" he answered, looking back up to his capture. "I'm Aziraphale." Crowley looked in disbelief that's an odd name for a human… statue…

"Aziraphale" he repeated, looking back at the empty podium. Aziraphale followed his gaze and stared in shock; he couldn't understand why he had been placed on there in all places. "Where are you from Aziraphale" Crowley questioned feeling the question 'Why were you a statue' was too straight forward.

"Heaven" The man answered simply. Crowley looked down towards the man in his arms and gulped… Was he holding a 'fallen'? Angel in his arms… He now understood why the man hadn't run away once he saw his eyes but what he now didn't understand was why he was a statue and why, once Crowley touched his hand, he was alive… "Crawly-"

"Crowley" He snarled, "No one has called me that in 5000 years." He claimed before shutting his mouth quickly. The angel in his arms smiled and almost giggled.

"Wow, 5000 years, seems like I'm not the only angelic entity." The redhead turned to glare at the man and was about to speak up until he saw the playful look on the angel's face and chose to ignore the statement completely. Completed fazzed by the whole ordeal, the adorable saintly man asked: "Why is it so dark and can I be put down now?" After realising, they had been looking at each other for a while. Crowley blinked before remembering his little joke.

"About that…" He started as he placed the figure on his own two feet again. "You may or may not be wearing my glasses and jacket…" The demon was lost for words; he was utterly confused. Aziraphale moved his hands to his face and gently pulled the glasses from it, replacing them on Crowley's face. He was about to step back to give space between the two creatures but was met with darkness… Crowley watched in horror has the man he was just talking to fainted…


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley watched in horror has the man he was just talking to fainted…

Since arriving home, Crowley had placed the stranger on his bed and had spent the last three hours pacing the room. The floor looked as though it was starting to chip away where Crowley's heel kept hitting. He had so many questions he wanted to ask the 'fallen' angel on his bed. Was he actually fallen, why was he a statue, and why had he turned back when Crowley had touched him… Was it because Crowley was a fellow non-human, and his touch was all that was needed. Maybe Crowley has messed up a divine plan. He tried to come up with a reason why the man was a statue and why he was no longer one. (I might add all the theories Crowley came up with, where wrong, very, very wrong.)

Frustrated Crowley looked over to the plant as if asking if it knew why but when he looked over he had noticed the plant had started budding a few weeks earlier than it was meant to and it was leaning in the direction of Aziraphale rather than the direction of the sun which shocked Crowley more. Then it hit him like a stack of bricks (Which does really hurt if you ever wanted to know), the angel must have been extremely tired due to the number of miracles he had given as a statue. (I'd also like to add, how it still hadn't dawned on Crowley, Aziraphale had granted him a miracle, and I can safely tell you Crowley will not understand this for a while)

Crowley had given up pacing the floor back and forth, his shoes starting to wear down; instead, he looked at the angel he had laying across the bed. He took notes of how the angel had an old but smart style of fashion and compared to the demons black attire. He was wearing a suit type of outfit with a tartan bow… Crowley scoffed, who wears tartan anymore. He also noticed how the angel was a mixture of natural colours which suited its bright blond curled hair and Crowley would never admit it, but he found the little dicky bow cute, and it seemed to match the aesthetic of the man lying on his bed to the tee.

Crowley honestly had no idea what to do in this situation, he couldn't ask his superiors in Hell as they would be furious at him helping the enemy, and he couldn't contact Heaven Go- Sat- Who knows why he was left as a statue. The strange man rose again, placing his jacket over the angel's top half of the body watching him shake. He never knew angels could get cold; maybe he's not cold but dreaming. He never knew angels could dream then. Crowley didn't think the angel was going to be awake anytime soon and left the apartment to investigate what he could as well as complete some demonic miracles how that his angelic block had been removed from the centre of London.

Crowley had gone back to the podium to see what he was missing in the whole ordeal; surely someone left a clue or something as too why Aziraphale had been left there. He noticed time had once again started to run once the angel had collapsed, but no one had questioned why the statue wasn't there. That was until Crowley had returned to the exact spot today. He looked around, people where angry, no they were furious, Crowley bathed in the feeling, and it was nice. He watched as the humans looked at each other with suspicion. There was no way he was going to be able to search for clues in this big of a crowd, so he tried to blend in to see what people were speculating. He knew he wasn't there to find where the statue had gone he knew that; it was curled up in his bed asleep.

He heard someone shout from within the group, "What's happened?" towards those who were stood looking at the front of the group for clues. An old man, who Crowley knew as Sergeant Shadwell claimed it was down to witchcraft and he will not rest until he has found it. Crowley, knowing witches were real still tried not to laugh, along with some of the others in the crowd. The demon looked around, and the mess he thought he would have to create seemed to of fixed itself. He watched as people became angry wondering who they were going to ask for things now. The growing need of humanity would cause any angel to fall. Satisfied London now had a better balance with the ratio of good and bad; he decided to make his way back to the Bentley and make sure the angel still slept, the angel who he still had no idea what to do with…

That was until he ran into someone. Crowley sat up not even realising he had walked into someone, grabbing the bag that had landed on his lap while he fell. The looked up at the women who had only tripped; she looked down at him in disgust due to his snake face tattoo and his sunglasses, which he was still wearing in autumn. She rigorously snatched her purse of him in a manner; it caused a piece of paper to blow out of it. Crowley sat in disbelief, watching as the women walked on with her day, he picked up the paper. Turning it around, he tried to look for the woman again, but to no surprise, she was now lost within the crowd, on the paper was written 'Aziraphale'. He told himself to remember to give it to the angel once he was rested and placed the paper in his pocket. After brushing himself off, he got into the Bentley and drove home in record speed; hoping the sleeping angel was still there, if not asleep.

To his surprise, when he checked on the man, the angel had curled itself around Crowley's jacket and was still sleeping happily; Crowley would never admit it, but he hoped the angel as alright, he didn't need Heaven knocking on his door as it why one of its angels had been inconveniently discorporated. The demon decided he was going to grab a chair and wait for Aziraphale to wake up before he did anything else and judging by the paper that had fallen out the woman's bag it suggested Crowley wasn't the only person watching over the angel. However, he had noticed since the encounter with the statue he's started to feel a little less weak and tired.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley believed it had been three days and the angel has yet to move a muscle, except to turn around in his sleep. Crowley started to feel a wave of weakness and tiredness wash over him, with the threat of his own eyes wanting to close. He sat in tired confusion, trying to comprehend why he was feeling like this considering he had spent the last three days watching the angel intensely waiting for him to wake up. The man feared the angel would panic if he awoke in a strange place with no one by him. (However, if you were to ask Crowley, he would tell you to shut up and would claim he's only watching the angel because he was worried it might destroy his apartment or something)

Half asleep, the demon woke with a startle as he heard the angel aggressive turn in his sleep. Crowley looked over the body make sure everything was ok before standing up. He stretched, walking to the window to open it slightly. He looked out to the world and started questioning what he was going to do if the angel didn't wake up soon. He thought about talking to downstairs, especially if his theory of Aziraphale being a fallen angel was true. However, fallen angels don't get little notes; hell doesn't do that.

While figuring out what to do with the sleeping man, Crowley placed his fingers into his trouser pocket and brought out the note to examine it carefully. The crystal white paper felt soft and expensive over his fingers. To his surprise, he couldn't find a fold to the paper, nor could he find any other writing within/on the piece apart from the name 'Aziraphale' which was written by a delicate hand, when Crowley had placed it up to the window. A sudden draft nearly made him drop the paper out the window, so in a panic, he decided to place it back into his pocket until the angel had awoken. Confused on what to do, Crowley walked back over to his chair next to the bed, ultimately drifting back off to think.

…

Crowley started to wake up when he felt something heavy and warm being placed around his shoulders, causing the man to grab the ends of the object and wrap it around himself. Half asleep, he heard a faint chuckle of breath come from above him, which caused him to sit up in shock. Who was in his house? Crowley looked up quickly at the person, they jumped back in fright, tripping over the end of the bed, causing them to sprawl their body across it. The demon looked over to where the angel had been occupying, but to his surprise, he was no longer there. Crowley was about to jump up and question where the man had gone until he realised the person who had fell on the bed was that very same angel.

Aziraphale lay across the bed in shock, slowly sitting up he was met with a face of astonishment and terror, entirely different for the cute demon he had witnessed when he awoke. The demon finally relaxed into the chair again, leaning his head back against it. "Hello…" Aziraphale said, standing to greet the man before he was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness. Crowley jumped up to steady the heavy body, helping the man walk over to the chair he had been occupying, himself moving to sit on the bed. The angel smiled with a sorry look on his face, placing his hands in his lap. "Than-"

"Don't say that, if anyone found out I'm helping an angel they would kill me." The demon warned the man, leaning forwards into the angel's personal space. The angel as a little taken back but smiled none the less, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "What are you doing here?" Crowley asked in a harsher tone than he had meant, the angel opposite him looked around the room in puzzlement then at Crowley in horror, the words from the man's warning finally sinking in.

Aziraphale tried to play it cool, answering the stranger's question, "To be quite honest, I don't actually know where I am." And before he could ask anything else, Crowley had interrupted him.

"You're in London." And with that, a sudden realisation hit Aziraphale as he smelt the air; he thought he could sense a demonic presence, causing him to look around the room for another entity. He couldn't find one; his matters were pressed into a different hand.

"Ho-How did you know I was an angel?" Aziraphale asked, looking behind him in speculation; Crowley knew what the man was doing and sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"They're not out, don't worry," The demon said, leaning back, the angel glared at the man, how could he know? The ginger placed his hands across the sheet of the bed, scrunching his face in search for a better explanation than 'I can smell 'angelicness' on you.' In the end, Crowley opted into saying "You had told me when I caught you after you fell from a statue podium in the centre of London." He snorted to himself; it probably would have been easier to tell the angel he could smell he 'angelicness' pulsing from him. Aziraphale stared and Crowley in disbelief.

"Statue podium?" He questioned, still trying to look around for the source of the demonic smell, Crowley just shrugged his shoulders while placing his hands in his pocket, his fingers brushing against the delicate paper.

"Aziraphale," Crowley started removing his hands from his pockets before stopping, he watched as the suspicion grows on Aziraphale face towards Crowley. The man gave up and thought the best way to explain, would be to show and while he stood up their eyes locked into each other; time seemed to slow down again, and the next thing both men can see is a world of light with a bright blue sky above them.

A breeze hits Aziraphale, and he felt his wings stretching, causing him to relax and crack his neck. He breathed a sigh of relief. (I need to tell you, he didn't know it was a sigh of relief, but it was) And it wasn't until he looked up to see dark black wings spread in front of him, with Crowley in the middle for him to understand where the demonic presence was coming from. Crowley himself was a little disappointed the man he had found wasn't a fallen angel but still an enemy. Once both men realised their respected suspicions, Crowley returned them to the apartment, the blond giving him an unexpected smile.

Truth be told, Crowley was half expecting the angel to run or attack him, but instead, he had sat looking at him with an expression he couldn't describe.


	5. Chapter 5

Truth be told, Crowley was half expecting the angel to run or attack him, but instead, he had sat looking at him with an expression he couldn't describe.

After who knows how long, Crowley tried to look away, placing his hands in his pockets as a distraction, his fingers once again playing with the note, he went to pull it out and looked back at Aziraphale, whose eyes had never left him. "Erm..." Crowley started picking up his sunglasses form the dresser, trying to change the mood in the room.

"You're a demon," Aziraphale stated as if it was a regular occurrence, Crowley's brows scrunched together.

"Of course I'm a bloody demon what else am I going to be an aardvark?" The man hissed back playfully on his tongue. The angel stood up and placed his hand out; Crowley looked down at it in confusion. The angel looked up at him, hand still out, noticing the confusion of the demon.

"You said I couldn't say thank you because if Hell found out they would kill you or something," Aziraphale said flailing his arms, "but I needed to do something so you know I'm grateful."

"Why are you thanking me?" Crowley questioned, his face a picture of utter confusion. The angel kept his hand out, trying to explain the reasoning to the man.

"You protected a vulnerable angel even though it would cost you your life…" Aziraphale drifted off, Crowley was taken back a little.

"Shut up." He said, placing his glasses back on his head, trying to hide a smile; he smacked the angels hand back. Aziraphale looked a little rejected but forced a smile back on his face.

His hand found the paper again, and this time he pulled it out, the angel watched intrigued. "Here." Crowley gave the paper over, the name on the front disappeared, and the paper grew in size, Crowley watched in shock that was not how he expected the words to appear, must be a new thing from Heaven.

Aziraphale absorbed in the note read it aloud –

"_Aziraphale,_

_You have been given a second chance do not mess this up_."

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley who was trying to read the rest of the letter, his face in a frown; he carried on.

_"We have allocated you a bookshop which is located in Soho; we'll be in touch once we know you're awake, and Aziraphale we're not joking when we say do not mess this one up_."

The angel dropped the note in revulsion, trying to think about what he's done to test Heaven. Tears filled the corner of his eyes. The demon watched in horror, he didn't know what to do, he still had millions of questions for the crying man, but instead, he opted to demonically miracle a pocket cloth, it was black with white lacing around the edge. The angel took it, looking up at the man in desperation but flinched when the demon went to push him on the chair to relax him; a flash of alarm crossed his eyes before they were drawn back to a look of despair.

"Aziraphale?" The demon whispered softly.

"Don't worry about me dear, I'll be ok," Aziraphale stated wiping the last of his tears, explaining to Crowley he doesn't remember anything that's happened to him before meeting the demon in the square. Crowley looked down at the distraught man; he decided the mood was too sombre even for a demon, so he tried to change the subject. They could worry about that at a later date.

"Why a bookshop?" The demon asked in a desperate hope to get the angel to forget the conversation before, the blond looked at him in mock horror, his hand placed across his chest.

"What do you mean 'why a bookshop?' Why not a bookshop? A room full of books…" Aziraphale looked on into the distance as if he was thinking of all the book he could read at his leisure, a smile graced his lips. "Where's Soho?" he asked a tone of determination.

Crowley showed Aziraphale out the apartment, and to his Bentley, the angel twirled in excitement at the new scenery of the place they call London, he might not remember what he's done, but he knows the only view in Heaven is white…

"Get in angel." The ginger says getting in the driver's side of the car; Aziraphale turns back to face Crowley, the blond looks over the car before climbing into his side.

"What is this?" He asks, but Crowley chose to ignore the man and started to drive to Soho much to the angel's terror.

"Slow down Crowley!" the angel screamed, gripping onto the seat under him. The demon just laughed and drove to the address of the bookshop.

…

It was on the corner of a street in Soho; the building was painted red with 'A. Z. Fell and Co' wrote across the door. Aziraphale looked up at it in excitement, getting out the car. The man ran to the doors, which opened with his words. A little tinkle of a bell happened, and Aziraphale was in love, the shop was stacked to the brim with books. Crowley followed in behind and was hit with a smell and a feeling he's been in this place before, just as he was about to say something he saw Aziraphale had disappeared into a side room at the back.

The angel had found scrolls with non-English writing on he glanced them over wondering was painted across his face, but it dropped when he saw his name wrote on the bottom- 'To a friend Aziraphale.' This wasn't the first time he's been down to Earth? Crowley knocked against the wall making the angel jump; the demon laughed, asking, "What you found there?" The angel turned and gave him the scroll to read, and the face of the demon was as shocked at Aziraphale's…


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale in confusion, how had the angel been in London before and he hadn't sensed him? It wasn't as though Crowley sensed all angelic presence around him, but Aziraphale had a specific unforgettable smell. (I am going to add something here, to Crowley ordinary angels smelt off-putting so to say, but Aziraphale, oh Aziraphale smelt of old books, the outdoors and sweets with a hint of British tea) It didn't make sense to the demon's mind but thinking back it made sense in the matter of a 'second chance'.

Aziraphale questioned it as well; he sat down, trying to comprehend his involvement in Earth before being given his 'second chance'. He sighed to himself, a second chance, what does that even mean? He tried to think about how he could learn from the first time if he can't even remember what he's done? His brain hurt, he couldn't remember anything about Earth other then angel textbook knowledge of London being in England which was a part of Europe and so on but nothing that he's personally done to help benefit the planet.

Crowley watched the blonds face screw up in a panic, his own drawing a frown, a hint of pity flashed across his bright yellow snake-like eyes; he walked over and sat down beside the angel as a sign of comfort, with as much comfort a demon could give. "Hey let's have lunch," Crowley stated, Aziraphale was drawn back out his mind with the mention of food and looked at Crowley with a small smile across his face, "On me."

…

The entities ended up in a small café not too far away from Aziraphale bookshop; it was a homely place a small cake bar at the back with a mixture of tables ready to sit a group of two to a group of four. The walls were an ugly mucky yellow, which was reflected in the cashier's yellow dress and white pinafore. Crowley watched as the angel enjoyed the cake laid in front of him, a satisfying 'hmm' coming from each bite. Under his sunglasses, Crowley studied his face; he no longer looked as tired as he once looked and his face looked soft a squishy. (The nicest and accurate way of putting it) A faint smile graced the angel's lips as he looked up to Crowley, the demon looked down to the man's food quickly avoiding the angel's gaze.

"Have you been on Earth long?" The angel asked randomly, tilting his head. The demon looked back up to Aziraphale, his face softening.

"6000 years…" Crowley whispers, he tried to think back, but his memory was blocked, taking it as a sign of being tired he chose not to bring it up while he watched the angel's eyes widen.

"Wow, that's a long time." The demon nodded a pain of guilt and sadness hit him; he didn't understand why. "I bet it's been lonely," Aziraphale added, his voice held a hint of reminiscent in it, while taking another bite of his angel cake; the demon didn't answer and instead questioned the angel.

"Angel, what's the last thing you remember, before you awoke in my arms?" The ginger smirked a little as he added the last part of the sentence, Aziraphale eyes widened again, and he coughed.

"Well, I don't really remember a lot other than the feeling of heaven, it's bright isolation…" Crowley tilted his head a little in confusion. "I also remember something about the ineffable plan not working how heaven and hell wanted it to." Crowley sat up straight.

"Ineffable plan?" Of course, Crowley knew what the ineffable plan was, he wasn't an idiot but when had it not 'worked' out, what did that even mean?

"The Ineffable plan is basically God's will..." Aziraphale started, wiping his mouth clean.

"I know what the ineffable plan is angel, that's not what I was questioning." Crowley hissed, moving his body to stand up. The angel ignored the irritation in Crowley's voice and carried on.

"Apparently some rogue entities caused a mishap to their plan."

"Come on, let's walk to the duck pond," Crowley said, wanting to change the scenery, you could only cope with that ugly yellow for so long. The events of the day from meeting at the bookshop, to dining at lunch, to a quiet walk by the duck pond felt like a daily occurrence as if they had always known each other; the demon laughed to himself.

…

The pond was quite as the ducks swam up to the two men who stood by the fence as if waiting to be fed. Aziraphale felt guilt, and so miracled a bag of seed, Crowley chuckled. "Be careful, they might pull you up on that." Aziraphale blushed and started to throw the seeds into the water, watching as the ducks ate happily.

"Crowley?" The angel started his voice quiet, "What do you think I've done to upset Heaven? I mean it couldn't have been something to bad if they're giving me a 'second chance'" He looked over with a look of pleading, causing Crowley to look away from the angel.

"I'm not sure you can do bad, you're an angel." The demon stated watching a duck bob under the water.

"You're right, I mustn't threat." The angel said with a sigh of relief. Truth be told Crowley knew Aziraphale must have done something terrible for the angels to be mad enough to turn him into a statue, but there was no use worrying the hapless thing more than he was. "What do you think they will want me to do?" Aziraphale asked making Crowley look back over.

"I don't know angel, all we can do it wait." The demon smiled at him, any enemy of Heaven was an acquaintance to him he thought. Aziraphale was glad he wasn't alone in facing the situation himself, there was so much he didn't understand, who would be coming to see him?

(Little to the demon and angels knowledge, there was a small frog sat on the pond watching their conversation, of course, they would not find out what or who that frog was till later in the story, but this frog was going to be watching their every move until it is time.)


	7. Chapter 7

When Aziraphale finally opened the front doors of his bookshop, a crisp coldness swept against his skin under the layers and layer of clothes. (It's not like angels can feel cold, but they can feel a discomfit) Looking around, the shop held an eerie atmosphere due to the front room sitting in darkness, with a piecing silence; however, after the confusing day with Crowley, the silence was welcoming. He could think. Aziraphale walked further into the shop holding his head, what was he going to do? Instead of sitting to think, he grabbed the first book he placed his hands on and moved to sit in the armchair that faced away from the door. He sighed, opening the first page; he was taken into the imaginary world within the pages.

It wasn't until the first sign of early morning light hitting his shoes did he realise he had been reading all night, rather than giving himself the space and quiet he needed to think. He placed the book next to him angrily; he still didn't know what he was going to do or who he could actually trust. Upon thinking about the demon, he was brought back to their conversation yesterday while walking back to his bookshop, after an evening stroll around the duck pond. Crowley had given the angel a warning about how he shouldn't trust all the angels in Heaven, but when asked why he couldn't explain claiming he just 'had a feeling'. It caused the angel to huff in irritation and still does while thinking back. The angel had cautiously agreed to the thinking of the demon because he was always taught to trust a fellow angel, as they were under Gods oath, and the thing he shouldn't be trusting was Crowley. Aziraphale knew that he knew demons were meant to be the 'evil' and suspicious creatures, but he felt deep down he could trust Crowley, he felt he could trust the demon with his life. (I mean, not to break the story but he already had *Wink*)

Aziraphale sighed as he placed the sixth book he had gotten through during the night onto the table next to him instead of letting it sit on the arm of the chair, in fear of knocking it off. He stood up in irritation and fixed his jacket shaking his head, why was it always him! He was about to pick up the stack of books off the floor before he heard a knock at the shop's door, he keeps his head down grabbing the books shouting the shop was closed, but the doors opened anyway. "Aziraphale!" A voice shouted as it clapped its hands.

Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion; his heartbeat could be heard in his ears as he left the books on the floor, "Gabriel?" He whispered, "What do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" Aziraphale asked, looking confused at the angel's face that was smiling a little too bright and was watching him a little too closely.

The head angel smile flattened as he clapped again while he walked further into the shop, his face flashing a sign of panic before it disappeared and the creepy smile returned, "Did you get the note?" His head tilts slightly in suspicion.

"Yes," Aziraphale pull the piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over to Gabriel for him to examine.

The head angel nodded handing the note back over to remind Aziraphale of his priorities before moving to sit on the chair the blond had been sat on through the night; he looks up between his lashes a little threatening, Aziraphale breath hitched, "What do you remember Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern gate?"

"What do you mean?" the man squealed trying to hold his ground.

"Do you know where you're here, on Earth I mean, do you know what you were doing before entering the shop?" Aziraphale opened his mouth, about to tell Gabriel about the situation with the demon and what he had done yesterday but decided he was betraying the only person he could trust, as Gabriel came off more threatening then he remembered the angel being, so lied through his teeth.

"I'm afraid, all I seem to remember is guarding the gates of Eden 6000 years ago to a white blur." Aziraphale looks off into the distance as if trying to decipher what happened during the white blur, Gabriel sat forward in anticipation and when the blond angel shook his head in disappointment a sinister smile graced the head angel's lips. "After the white blur, I remember nothing else until I walked into the bookshop yesterday and read a scroll with my name on." The angel on the chair listened carefully and once happy with what he had heard he stood, starting to talk out the bookstore.

"That's good to know," he said the overly bright smile returned to his face, but Aziraphale didn't understand, how was having an angel who was given a second chance, and angel with no memory a good thing? "All you need to know Aziraphale, is you have been re-sent to Earth because we need your help." The angel looked over his brows scrunched; the head angel carried on, "We need you to keep an eye on a certain demon, there are rumours this demon is betraying a high force." Aziraphale eyes widened as he listened, could the mean?

The head angel turned to face Aziraphale again and sternly looked at him, "His name is Crowley, have you had a chance to meet this creature yet?" Aziraphale quickly shook his head, trying to play an innocent face, it caused Gabriel to frown, but he nodded. "Well, first thing first is, I need you to try and find this demon, watch him closely and report back any 'un-demon' and 'un-heavenly' actions the demon is doing."

"Of course," Aziraphale finally said, placing his arm against the chair to keep himself up, his heart beating faster. The only person he knew down here, the only person who had shown him any compassion was his enemy, and he was going to have to play a spy? This was going to be hard, who should he be trusting?


	8. Chapter 8

It had been two days since the encounter with Gabriel and Aziraphale had decided to stay in the shop and think about his next moves. It was all a little suspicious as to why he was suddenly thrown back to Earth to spy on a demon that had helped him, and he's been given no other memories other than his time in Eden to awaking in Crowley's arms. It just didn't make sense, the angel thought, throwing his body down against his chair sighing in defeat. Every time he thought he was close to knowing what had happened in the blank space, his head forced him out. Aziraphale held his head as it spun, who was he going to trust, who could he trust? After a long deliberation, the angel decided he was going to stay sitting on the fence, trust neither side fully.

To anyone walking by the shop this late at night would know it was closed and not welcoming to visitors because through a window covered by books was a dim light. Inside, however, the shop felt welcoming and calm as two candles that Aziraphale had cleaned a space for on a small writing desk flickered softly against the many shelves of books. The shopkeeper within Soho had once again lost himself in one of his many books and had been lost for hours after he had allowed himself to relax once he decided he was going to sit on the fence. He had thought about asking the almighty for her answer but thought that unwise to do.

He was only brought out his trance when he heard a sudden loud knock against the shop doors; it bounced across the quite bookstore like thunder. Aziraphale had jumped and held his breath, hoping the person would go away as he looked over to the clock he had knelt against one of the shelves. Who on Earth would be calling at the bookshop at 11 pm? The angel dared not move as he placed a bookmark into the pages of the book he had been occupying.

Then he felt a sudden cold wind blow against his body as he heard the doors of the shop being forced open by celestial magic. A sudden panic rose in the angel's body, and he nervously tried to hide himself within the shelves behind his back, against the wall, near his writing desk. Another sudden panic rose in his body when his heart started to pound with the sound of fast and hard footsteps coming into the shop, he randomly thought about Crowley, was he safe? Why he was thinking about Crowley at this moment? He shook his head, and as he heard his name being called in a desperate tone, Aziraphale had cried, "Please don't hurt him too!"

An image of a shadowed figure with tears in its eyes filled his head, and he held onto himself tightly, huddled in the corner, as close as he could to the wall not wanting to face the person taking the shadowy figure away from him. At some point during the ordeal, Aziraphale had outstretched his hand; he looked like he did when he was a statue. He stayed like that until the angel realised the person wasn't there to hurt him or at least hadn't moved to hurt him since he cried out.

Aziraphale slowly opened his eyes but didn't move his body; there in front of him was the demon he had been worried about. He looked confused and distressed at Aziraphale, and the angel felt his body breath air again, his heart flipping at the knowledge the man in front of him was safe, why he was relieved as beyond him. (Why the demon saw his relief was beyond him too)

"Angel?" Crowley whispered gently as he stepped towards the desperate body, holding his hand out as if to save him from falling, "I'm not here to hurt anyone…" Aziraphale heard and felt the hurt coming from the demons tone of voice, and he tried to smile at him, but his head hurt as an image of Crowley being dragged away from him appeared. He jumped and ran into Crowley's body, holding him desperately, making sure he was actually here.

"I know…" Was all the blond was able to choke as he clung to the slim man, "I know you aren't!"

Crowley was flabbergasted, he didn't understand what was happening, why had an image of Aziraphale little bookshop bursting into flames had filled his vision when the angel hadn't opened the door when he had knocked? It had caused the demon to worry. It caused the demon to be filled with rage and pain and loss. He was worried about a celestial being he didn't even kn… He wasn't able to finish his thought and instead he hugged the blond back, glad to know it had just been an image.

Crowley held on tight thinking back to his own memory disruption and thought maybe they had known each other before the situation with the statue. He pouted as he held the body jut a little lighter before letting the man go.

"I'm sorry about that, dear," Crowley looked back down at Aziraphale and smiled, "I don't know what came over me like that, is everything ok?" The angel asks looking over the wall where the door had been slammed over, luckily nothing was broken. Crowley sheepishly grabbed the back of his neck and nodded before moving to sit in one of Aziraphale armchairs in the back room. The shopkeeper followed and proceeded to open a cabinet at the other side of the back room, which was filled with alcohol.

When he returned, Crowley smirked at the angel and raised his eye browns, "Alcohol!" The angel sat down next to the demon and opened one of the many bottles, both men ignoring what had just happened within the bookshop had opted to talk about the world Aziraphale felt he vaguely knew, Crowley was all but happy to tell him. Well tell him what he remembered anyway, it was all a big fuzzy blur, but that's what happens when you are immortal human time just gets muddled up.

…

They had been drinking for hours now, six hours to be exact and let's just say they were no longer making full coherent sentences. "What can I say, I'm tempter," Crowley slurs between mouthfuls of wine, Aziraphale smiled shaking his head.

"Sounds more like lazy," Crowley pouted at the man causing the angel to burst out laughing, "You do same things and take credit for actions of humans!" Aziraphale stated, throwing his arms about in an exaggerated tone.

"Not my fault," Crowley hiccupped, "If humans do better job then demons!" Aziraphale nodded, agreeing.

"Angels do no better," The blond said closing his eyes remembering he's meant to be sitting on the fence, but with this much alcohol the fence was swaying, and he's leaning backwards towards Crowley, was he going to fall?

"That I can agree with," Crowley cried, laughing as he grabbed another bottle.

"Arch-Archangel Gab… Gabby… Gabriella."

"Gabriel, angel, do you mean the archangel, Gabriel."

"Yeah him, he popped into the shop the other day, claiming I was to be a spy." Crowley stopped drinking the instant Aziraphale finished that sentence, and instead held the bottle to his mouth, "I meant to spy on you, but I don't want to!" Aziraphale pouted causing the demon to laugh and knock some wine onto the chair he was sitting on, that face didn't suit the happy face of the angel; it made him look like a child.

"I can't handle this information drunk, let's sober up." Aziraphale nodded, and both men started to sober up, the alcohol in the bloodstream filling the bottles again. "Ok, so what do you mean spy on me?"

Aziraphale eye's widened he hadn't meant to say that, and now the alcohol was out his system he saw the fence he was sitting on had broken completely and he had landed in Crowley's arms with a threatening Gabriel watching, judging from the other side…


End file.
